Corner Me
Hungry. Hungry for some pure, innocent soul to tear and devour. Getting close. Oh so very close. Somewhere in this little town is the purest soul I have ever felt in the thousand years I have been on this Earth.
Just another boring night in Beacon Hills. Stiles was on his computer looking up more information about werewolves. Who knew what was real or not, and Stiles was finding a ton of information on them, like they can't cross running water, and the only way you can be born a werewolf is if you're the first born son of two werewolf parents. Also that they are shunned away by crosses and holy water because apparently werewolves are made from the Devil himself.
"Yeah right." Stiles said, shutting off his computer and going on his bed to lie down. Shutting his eyes Stiles began thinking about how if there are werewolves and kanimas then who knows what else is out there. Maybe one day he'll befriend a Bigfoot or a Chupacabra or a Loch Ness monster or something. Hey, anything is possible.
THUMP
"What the hell was that?" Stiles half screamed half spoke. He sat up on his bed and looked to his window. "Derek, is that you? Or Scott? Dude come on, I already heard you."
Stiles got up and slowly walked to his bedroom door to put some distance between himself and whatever had made that noise. There is no way Scott would just hide out on the ledge like this. Derek would, but not for this long...
Reaching for the doorknob Stiles turned his head to look back at the window. He hadn't heard another noise since that last thump.
BOOM
Stiles door banged into him with the force of a cannon, knocked him flat on his ass. He scrambled to get up toward the window to get away from whatever the hell was chasing him, a werewolf, a kanima, a-
"Dad?" Stiles stared in shock at his own father standing in the doorway. At least, it looked like his dad, but there was no way it actually was. For one thing, he just nearly busted Stiles door off it's hinges and for another his eyes were totally black.
"Dad?" Stiles repeated. Stiles heart was thumping in his chest, sweat dripping down his forehead. He has never been this scared in his whole life.
"Wrong body." Stiles dad said.
Mr Stilinski lifted his hand and, Stiles has no idea how, but he was being lifted off the ground himself. Like invisible hands were grabbing and pulling him up in the air. He opened his mouth to scream but no sound would come out. His throat was being squeezed by these invisible hands.
So this is how I die. I always thought it'd be more romantic.
Mr. Stilinski walked over to Stiles. He opened his mouth. And this giant cloud of black smoke poured out of it, never ending, and just resonating hate from it's core.
Mine. All mine. All this sweet sweet innocence. His purity. His soul. All. Mine. Now.
It entered Stiles through his eyes, his ears, his mouth, and his nose. It filled Stiles up inside until he thought he was going to explode. And right when he thought he couldn't take any more, blackness. All around him. He couldn't see. He couldn't feel. It was like he was drifting in nothingness.